


per manum (by hand) or: a story told in hands

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-29
Updated: 2002-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-01 06:46:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Livia's X-Files challenge. Clark and Lex in a nameless future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	per manum (by hand) or: a story told in hands

## per manum (by hand) or: a story told in hands

by Lizard

<http://lizard.chaos.org/fic>

* * *

TITLE: Per Manum (by hand) 

or: a story told in hands  
AUTHOR: Lizard  
EMAIL: singinglionchild@yahoo.com  
NOTES: Heap big thanks to Livia, for thinking this up. And heap big thanks to canadian_snoopy and Random for betaing. 

He looked out over the city, toward the setting sun. Ignoring the tears that came -- even now, he couldn't have named their source. He shuddered once and looked away from the sun, blinking to clear his eyes. Scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

A sound from the stairs. 

He opened his eyes again, stilling, tilting his head in acknowledgement. The newcomer slipped a hand into the pocket of tailored slacks, drawing nearer to the railing. The free hand rose, coming to rest on his shoulder, pale against his dark grey suit. 

"Clark." 

He shivered, and turned his head fully, meeting blue-grey eyes that held a careful welcome. His lips quirked up as he reached over to touch a cheek, knuckles brushing the high cheekbone. A thumb briefly outlining the lower lip before his hand fell away. 

A pause. "You too," came the soft reply. 

They went inside. 

  * Later =- 



Clark lifted a hand, sure in the darkness, and stroked it down the smooth arm. Watched the contrast of tanned skin against pale. 

Lex watched eyes, colorless in the dim room, watching him. Memorizing every square centimeter of him. Inside and out. But he knew better. Didn't he? 

_A Luthor never lets go!_ The voice of his father snapping, the words scratched into everything he touched, breathed, saw. 

The fingers carding through the hair on the back of his neck were a Luthor's. He didn't close his eyes. 

The dark hair was as unruly as ever. Even when pampered by the best conocotions and stylists that money could buy. He watched his fingers appear and disappear, stroking. 

Clark laid his head on a shoulder more defined than it had been at twenty-one, hand curling underneath the far shoulder. Legs tangling, twining around each other. Relaxing into the methodical hands. 

Mine. 

Yes. 

The gentle fingers never stopped moving. Each stroke precisely identical to the next, pressure and direction never deviating. Not even for a microsecond. He could tell, even through dulled senses. 

Clark rolled his head to the side. He could see the muscles in the pale throat bunching, releasing in a swallow. With a silent grunt, he sat up, warmed linen falling to curve over his hip. 

Eyes that became blue-grey in the light widened. He returned the look steadily. The eyes closed, and he reached out, grasping the elegant jaw. Shook the chin a bit, until the eyes opened again, some nameless emotion glittering. 

He had no words. Hadn't, for a very long time. But it was...almost okay. 

There were other ways of saying what had to be said, after all. 

Lex watched the big hand release his face and rise. Almost, he shut his eyes against the eyes that he knew were resting on him. Couldn't, could not. Not again. He widened his eyes fractionally. There would be no gentle benison of flesh crackling, fading into salt, filling his eyes and stopping his breath. 

The hand came down. 

Clark watched the eyes crack. Slow invisible bleeding in the dark. He stroked a thumb under one of those eyes, feeling the silken whisk of eyelashes, the paper-thin skin against the pad of his thumb. He repeated the motion. Watched the throat work before he let his hand fall away. 

Lex felt a distant, almost mean pride as his hand rose smoothly. His fingers brushing familiar, too-warm curving metal before coming to rest on a wide shoulder. 

The hand twitched near-imperceptibly. 

Something deep within quivered as Clark returned the deceptively quiet look. He inclined his head, minutely leaning into the hand, long eyelashes falling shut. 

Lex watched the head dip, the neck bending into him. 

A Luthor never lets go. 

He couldn't let go. 

Mine. 

Yes. 

The collar locked tight and studded with flashes of green, one brighter than the rest, said it all. 

fini. 

* * *

per manum (by hand)  
or: a story told in hands

this is a tale unspoken.  
it is best told in the darkness, in the warmth. listen to the story, children.  
listen to the curve and the dip, and the arch also. and learn their secrets: 

the quick-blaze of heat skimmed with fingertips. the silken chill of tangled hair.  
the quiver of the drum cradled in the hipbones. the sweetness behind a folded, soft ear. 

and, all of these learned, the rest lies curled; waiting for you to shape air and darkness. 


End file.
